


autumn leaves of red and gold

by caroandmally



Series: slow and steady [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Liam has PTSD, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caroandmally/pseuds/caroandmally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m trying not to.” It’s his answer and he thinks it’s enough for Zayn, but nothing is ever enough for him– and maybe that’s why Liam hasn’t pushed him away yet, because Zayn is all colours where Liam is all grey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	autumn leaves of red and gold

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, darlings. This is a fic I've already posted before, but I wasn't satisfied with how it turned out? So I decided to take it down and rewrite/revise it a little bit. Hope you guys like it <3

Liam wakes up every day at thirty past five.

He stretches, walks around his bedroom cracking his neck (twice to the left, twice to the right alternating). He does twenty push-ups and twenty sit-ups before putting his shorts and his t shirt on. His shoes are outside his door as well as clean socks. His iPod is already set on his favourite playlist, the only one that keeps up with his mood for his morning run. Liam smiles at his mum when he enters the kitchen and she has the kettle on, already making sure that Liam’s going to have his coffee once he’s back.

They don’t talk because they never do it. They don’t really have to.

(And he knows that should bother him, but it doesn’t.)

Instead of pondering over the things he should do or feel, Liam goes out to the cold morning and runs.

He runs because he’s been doing this ever since he was eleven and his mother stopped bothering whether he was alone on the street or not – although Liam is almost a hundred per cent sure this actually happened because she was just too tired to care. He runs because it’s his routine and one does not break a routine, especially not one called Liam Payne whose only change in his daily activities for the past six years is taking a bus instead of walking to the school.

Liam is just someone who works with the quotidian life, who can be considered ordinary and even  _boring_ as he insists on living in his own safe bubble where nothing can go wrong, nothing can change and no one can be hurt. He doesn’t care about his fame of being tedious because he has enough friends that know his way of act is not a choice, it’s just something he can’t avoid being as the sky can’t avoid being blue and kids can’t avoid being loud.

(And he knows he should change, but he doesn’t.)

Instead he runs until his lungs feel too heavy or he’s reached his five miles prospect. Five miles every day, five miles and he feels ok to face whatever he’s due to face for the rest of the day. Just five miles that maybe aren’t enough to make him feel particularly exhausted but that are enough to make him forget that it’s another day that nothing’s going to change

He also likes to run while the sun is rising and the sky is painted with orange and red. He likes it better when it’s not raining or snowing and the colours are clearer and brighter. He likes colours more than he likes the grey shades on his bedroom wall – he’s not cool enough to hide the grey behind posters and photos like his friends are so he settles to staring at it while he tries, in vain, to fall asleep without thinking about how his life is made of grey.

He’s usually done with the run by the time the sun starts rising so he sits at one of the benches of the park – that is green and not grey – and stares at the colours unfolding in front of his eyes, pop songs from the 90’s storming on his earbuds. It’s not his musical taste and it doesn’t fit with the landscape but it’s ok, it’s as far as correct as he can reach and he decides he likes it.

The sun is up when he goes back to take a shower and change his clothes. His coffee is on the kitchen table, aside with a note that reads _won’t be back till later, have to go shopping_   _xx_ and twenty pounds. He sighs, puts the money in his pocket and the note in the trash bin.

He walks to the school that day.

-

Liam wakes up at thirty past five.

Twenty pushups, twenty sit ups, shoes on the door, mother in the kitchen, sun rising, twenty pounds on the table.

He takes a bus.

-

Liam knows things are wrong when he’s up at twenty past five instead of thirty. It means he has ten spare minutes and Liam doesn’t do spare minutes. It means ten minutes he can’t occupy his mind with stuff that will keep him from overanalysing the things his therapist told him he would have to face when he’s ready.

He’s not ready.

Instead he does ten extra pushups and ten extra sit ups, he runs an extra half a mile and he misses it when the sun starts rising. He sits on a bench nonetheless and he stares at the beautiful colours emerging on the sky. He doesn’t have his earbuds on because he’s forgotten his iPod next to his backpack, but everything is white noise. From the birds chirping to the distant sound of a car honking, he can bring himself to ignore all of them.

“Which one is your favourite?” Someone asks him and he turns around to find a boy he’s never seen before – which is a strange sort of thing, considering how small the city is. He can’t be older than Liam but he seems wiser, almost as if he’s seen too much, has done too much, has felt more than he should’ve. Liam finds himself so draw in by that sparkle of something different that he doesn’t answer as fast as he’s expected and the boy tilts his head just a tiny bit to the right.

“Come again?” He asks, shaking his head slightly, clearing his thoughts.

The boy smiles, slow and pretty, makes Liam want to smile at nothing too.

“The colours,” he explains and Liam’s cheeks burn. He didn’t expect that. “I mean the colours. Which one is your favourite?”

“I don’t know.” And he’s not lying because Liam is constantly forcing himself to stop with the lies. He’s a good boy. “I think I like all of them.”

And he does, he really does. Any colour is better than grey.

“Why is that?” The curiosity is genuine, as if that boy actually wants to know what is going on inside Liam’s head and Liam has to remind himself that what stops the other from walking away is being unaware of Liam’s plainness.

“Does it matter?” He learned once that you’re not really supposed to answer a question with another question – probably his mother when she was still worried about teaching him what was right and what was wrong - but Liam does it nonetheless. He wonders for a moment if he’s rude. The boy’s smile just widens.

“Not really, no.”

Liam lets his eyes roam away from those hazel eyes with an odd sparkle, and it’s the first time he notices the notebook open on the boy’s lap.

“Were you writing?” He asks and it’s intrusive, impolite and he’s about to apologize when the boy looks at his lap and shakes his head, smile dropping from his face.

“No, I was actually drawing.” He closes the notebook and Liam knows it’s not something the other boy is willing to share with him. He starts gathering his stuff and forcing it inside his small bag. “I should go.”

And just like that he’s gone and, when Liam notices the dark red on the boy’s cheek, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he wonders how long had that boy been sitting on the bench next to his and if he’s there every day and Liam simply doesn’t notice him. Where is he from, why hasn’t Liam seen him in school and how come Liam hasn’t seen him before at all are questions that come to his head the minute he arrives home.

There’s one that bothers him the most though;

Why didn’t he ask the boy’s name?

-

Although it’s a Saturday, Liam wakes at thirty past five.

Twenty pushups, twenty sit ups, his shoes outside his door, but his mother is not in the kitchen. It’s Saturday and she’s probably sleeping. He finds Ruth asleep on the sofa but he doesn’t wake her up – whatever reasons his sister had to come all the way from London without letting his mother or Liam know were going to be voiced later.

He runs his five miles, sits on his bench and the bench next to his is not empty again. The boy smiles like he did the last time. His stomach flutters.

“It’s a Saturday, why are you up so early?” His voice is rough with something Liam assumes is sleep but could as well be something natural.

“Why are  _you_  up so early?” Answering a question with another question again and when has he become so defensive?

The boy laughs and fixes his hair, pushing his fringe away from his eyes.

“I’m Zayn.” And Liam likes that name, he really does. Especially with the way the boy says it, with a thick and foreign accent. He reckons he’d like to hear him saying his name in that same accent.

“Liam.” Not for one second the boy –  _Zayn_  stops smiling.

Liam is glad, because it’s the first time in five years that he allows himself to start thinking.

-

Sunday. Thirty past five. Pushups, sit ups, twenty – always twenty. Five miles. Bench.

“Why do you always run here?” Zayn doesn’t look up when he hears Liam stepping on a fallen leaf that creaks, fingers still moving fast on the paper.

“It’s calm, comfortable.” Liam replies, watching Zayn watching his own hands while he draws. “And I like the colours. Why do you always draw here?”

“I like the sight.” Zayn’s smile is cheeky when he raises his head. “A _specific_ sight.”

Liam feels his cheeks burn and he looks down to his hands on his lap.

“This is a bit creepy.” He whispers.

“Fuck.” And although Liam doesn’t like when people cuss, it sounds different when it comes from Zayn. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

It’s Liam’s time to smile and it’s been so long that he’s done it that he knows he looks weird.

“It’s fine, I know what you meant.” Zayn sighs out of relief and goes back to his drawing. “Will you ever let me see what you’re drawing?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

They are silent for the first time since Liam sat on his bench and Liam doesn’t like it because he’s thinking and he’s not ready, no matter how much his therapist tells him he is or his mum tells him he is or Ruth tells him he is. Louis is the only to understand that Liam won’t ever be ready to tear the bandage and poke the wound, but Louis can’t be there all the time, holding his hand and petting his hair and letting Liam know that someone is still with him, someone that won’t leave him, no matter what happens.

He finds himself wondering what Zayn would say in case he knew about his wounds, how deep they actually are. How would the other boy react, what would he think, would he stop wanting to watch Liam in case he found out how broken he actually is? Liam’s done his fair share of pushing people away because he’s too scared that they will leave him as soon as they find out that his routine is made up of ways of escaping from his own demons.

“What are you thinking?” Zayn asks and Liam almost replies but he stops to remind himself that he’s known Zayn for two days and that’s not long enough to share a secret it took Louis two years to find out.

“I’m trying not to.” It’s his answer and he thinks it’s enough for Zayn, but nothing is ever enough for him– and maybe that’s why Liam hasn’t pushed him away yet, because Zayn is all colours where Liam is all grey.

“You’re frowning.” Zayn reaches to touch Liam’s forehead but stops himself midway. “Can I?”

Liam can’t help but nod and so warm fingers graze on Liam’s skin.

“You worry too much.” Zayn whispers, more to himself than to Liam. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why do I never see you in school?” He’s running away from the subject because it’s close from making his heart hurt, the way Zayn is poking ever so lightly on the bandaged wounds.

“I’m home-schooled.” And Liam knows he should expect that, but somehow he didn’t. “Mum thought it would be better.”

Liam wants to ask why but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his attention back to the orange and the red and ignores how Zayn’s hand has a tight grip on his knee.

-

Monday he finds out Zayn’s last name is Malik.

Tuesday he finds out Zayn has three sisters.

Wednesday he finds out Zayn is from Bradford.

Thursday he finds out Zayn smokes.

Friday Zayn’s not there and Liam tries to ignore the pain in his chest.

-

“Mum?” He comes home from school and she’s sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine that is probably superficial and pathetic and Liam knows his mother wouldn’t do that five years before.

“Yes, darling?” She smiles at him and the smile is just as superficial as the magazine she’s holding

“Do you know anything about the Maliks?” Liam tries to sound uninterested but he fails miserably and his mother frowns.

“Not so much.” And Liam fails when trying not to look disappointed. “I know they live across the street though, at the old Reeves’ house. Why do you ask?”

Liam bites his lip, looking down. All this time Zayn has lived just across the street, just miserable twenty steps away, and he hadn’t know that.

“It’s nothing.” And she doesn’t question it.

(Not that Liam is surprised.)

-

He doesn’t go that afternoon though, deciding to wait and see if Zayn will be at the park the following morning. He wakes up at thirty past five and keeps up with his routine and is disappointed when Zayn is not there because, with Liam’s permission or not, the boy had been inserted in his routine, becoming another essential piece for Liam’s escapades from his sad reality, his land of make believe.

Liam can’t work with a missing piece.

So he goes straight to the shower once he gets home, ignoring the screamed fight echoing through the walls – he’s quite good at that by now. It’s his mum and Ruth, and “you don’t belong here anymore” and “I’m your daughter, you shouldn’t think twice before letting me in” and “I wasn’t your mother when I needed you and Nicola and Liam was the only one here and that’s because he had nowhere to go”. And his sister is wrong but his mother is also wrong and Liam is more than determined not to take sides in any fight that is picked at the house.

When Nicola is the one to appear, things are calmer because Nicola is calmer. She even tells their mother to keep sleeping and that she will make Liam’s coffee and leave Liam money and look after her younger brother who needs comfort and safety a lot more than he actually realizes. Except. Liam is _not_ a baby and people should be aware of that by now. He might be broken and hanging by his fingernails, but he’s not a baby. He can look after himself. Has done it for the past years, since.

_No._

Liam walks out of the shower and shivers at the cold wind coming from the window, this autumn wind that is not as cold as winter’s but will never be as warm as summer’s and suddenly he misses summer – which shouldn’t happen because the time he thinks the most is during summer, once he has less things to keep his mind busy – because it’s hot and warm and he doesn’t wake up every day with a feeling of coolness no one can push away.

Ruth is storming out of the living room when Liam walks in to let them know he’s going out. His sister has tears rolling down her face and, although he knows it’s a bad thought, he’s not a hundred per cent sure that those are real tears.

He strides across the room, pulling his mum in a hug and realizing she’s just as cold as he is. She’s crying – those are real tears and Liam knows it – but she pushes him away ever so slowly, making clear that she doesn’t need a hug to feel better, doesn’t need _him_ to feel better. She never did. He kisses her cheek nonetheless and she smiles.

“I’m going out.” And his mother is concerned because he’s breaking a pattern there and everybody knows Liam doesn’t do that. “I won’t be out for long. I’m just going over at Lou’s.”

Liam is not sure what makes him lie but he knows it’s for the best. Telling the truth would cause his mother to wonder why and, even if she didn’t ask because she knew better than to attack her son with question, she would bring it up anytime soon. And Liam would have to tell her about Zayn and about how that boy had managed to get under Liam’s skin to the point where he had messed up Liam’s routine just so he could be in it and Liam would have to explain that he doesn’t know how he feels about Zayn but that maybe, just maybe, he holds a tiny bit of hope that Zayn won’t leave him if he tells him the truth.

It’s been a long time since Liam was willing to trust someone that much.

-

He knocks twice. A small girl opens the door, only to hide behind it as soon as she hears someone – possibly her mother – screaming “Safaa, what did I tell you about answering the door?” to which the girl replies “only the grown-ups can do it”. When the owner of the voice arrives at the threshold, the little girl –  _Safaa_ – runs away. The woman smiles.

“Can I help you?” Her accent is strong, but Liam is not surprise. He’s too busy being nervous.

“I-I… I’m Liam.” She waits for him to continue, and he tries real hard not to think that the loose thread of his shirt is worth of his attention. “I-I live a-across the street a-and… is Zayn there?”

“Oh, of course, sweetie.” She’s warm on a way Liam’s mother doesn’t even bother trying to be anymore and it stings. “Just a second.” She turns around a bit. “Zayn, tumhe koi milne aaya hai.”

“Acha, uney upar bhej doh.” Liam hears Zayn’s voice coming from inside and he already feels lighter.

“He’s telling you to come in.” Zayn’s mum opens the door so Liam can come in. “Take off your shoes please, sweetheart, and Zayn’s room is second door to the left.”

Liam thanks her while taking off his shoes and putting them next to the other shoes, trying his best to keep them aligned – the doctor told him it’s not OCD, it’s just a necessity of keeping his mind busy – and smiles at Zayn’s mum before climbing up the stairs, one step after the other, trying to go against his urge of running.

He knocks twice.

“Come in.” Zayn screams and Liam takes a deep breath before moving his hand towards the doorknob.

When he opens the door, Zayn is sprawled all over his bed, a song he recognizes for being from Arctic Monkeys filling the room. He wasn’t lying when he said he was a geek – Zayn has a bookshelf filled with comics, from editors Liam has never even heard of. Star Wars dvds, Star Trek dvds, helmets and even a lightsaber and maybe Liam should laugh at how much of a kid Zayn is but he reminds himself that they are both only sixteen and that it’s actually cute that he’s so devoted to things that keep him entertained.

His walls are filled with his drawings together with posters from bands Liam has only heard from Zayn’s lips as well as from all the Harry Potter movies. The wall behind them it’s not grey but Zayn still had covered it with his things, and Liam remembers that he’s the only person that is bothered so much by the nudity of his bedroom walls.

“Liam?” Zayn stands up, and his hair is down on the flat fringe, he’s wearing glasses –  _geeky_ glasses – and Liam is a hundred per cent sure that’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “What are you doing here?”

And he could lie. Tell him that his mum had asked him to talk to the family that had recently moved across the street and that, by accident, Liam had found out that Zayn belonged to that family – which wasn’t entirely a lie – and boom he was there. Or he could lie and say that he was quite offended that Zayn didn’t mention that they were twenty steps away from each other this entire time and he came here to tell him never to look at Liam’s face. The truth is that Liam misses him, and he says so.

“You miss me?” Zayn is surprised and Liam is focused on that loose thread, the one that bothers him at the same time that works as a distraction. “I thought… _shit_ , I thought I was annoying you by talking so much and watching you run and that you wanted me to back off.”

Liam doesn’t say anything but he denies it with his head; he hears Zayn sighing.

“ _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn begs. “Talk to me.” So Liam does.

“I-I wasn’t annoyed, I’m just… I don’t really talk. To people. Like, at all?” And he’s stuttering because he’s nervous, because Zayn makes his skin crawl on a not particularly unpleasant way. Makes him unsure of himself and this is not something that happens often as Liam doesn’t bother being aware of himself at all, much less being insecure. “I-I have a couple of friends, Louis and Niall – I told you about them – and Lou’s boyfriend, Harry, tags along sometimes, but I don’t really have people to talk with and suddenly you give all your attention to me and truth is that I’m not interesting. I’m just really, really,  _really_ hard to deal with and I don’t know why anyone would bother to waste their time with me. And that’s why I miss you. Because you do. You waste your time with me.”

“You are not a waste of time.”

And Liam looks up and frowns. Zayn is not the first to tell him that, neither will he be the last, but it’s genuinely the first time Liam actually believes it. Because Zayn… Zayn is just fascinating. Zayn could have anyone and anything because people would be willingly crawling towards him, attracted by the amount of inspiring phrases and his charm, his amiable nature and his capacity of making the dirtiest word sound perfectly fit in any situation. That’s Zayn in all his colours and all his shades – there’s no grey and no plain, there are layers after layers of all the colours he’s used to work with when he paints. Maybe that’s why he likes painting so much, Liam thinks, because he’s just like that. An explosion of colours and emotions and feelings and everything Liam wished he could be but he can’t.

Zayn telling him he’s worth this – this time, this patience, these colours – is still not enough for him to feel strong, but it’s enough to make him feel stronger. So he smiles and Zayn smiles right back, walking towards Liam to close the door behind him. It’s the first time Liam actually smells Zayn and notices something other than the cigarettes scent. It’s faint but Zayn’s cologne is actually really good and he smells like coffee – Liam loves coffee. Zayn takes a step back, reaching for Liam’s hand and pulling him to the bed.

“Remember when you asked me if I would let you see my drawings?” Liam nods and Zayn points to the wall. “Those are my drawings. Everything I’ve drawn ever since I moved in here.”

Liam stops watching Zayn for a moment and stares at the wall. Some of the drawings he recognizes; trees from the park, the benches, the candy store at the end of the street, Mr. Button’s labrador, Mrs. Anderson’s garden. Only then he realizes what Zayn meant by saying that Liam would’ve to wait to see his drawings.

It’s Liam.

Liam looking at the sky as the sun rises, Liam running, Liam smiling to nowhere when his favourite song comes up on shuffle. Liam in moments he didn’t even pay attention to himself but that Zayn was enough focused for both of them. And his lines are flawless and his talent is so obvious and Liam simply doesn’t understand.

“Why?” He asks because he knows Zayn is aware of what he’s asking.

“Do you even know how beautiful you are, Liam?” And Liam swings around and notices Zayn’s eyes on him. “Do you even acknowledge how fascinating you are?”

Liam’s first reaction is to run away. And so he does, but Zayn catches him before he manages to open the door, thin fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“Don’t.” And Zayn is rubbing his thumb on Liam’s skin and it’s calm and reassuring and Liam can’t help but do exactly what he’s told. “Stay. Don’t go.”

So he doesn’t.

-

It’s been a week since Liam had appeared at the Maliks door for the first time, afraid of what he would find on the other side. He is lying next to Zayn on the bed, a song from Drake storming from the record player – “records are better than cds, Liam, you have to learn that if you plan on coming here all the time” to which Liam only replies “ok” – their sides are touching and the smell of coffee is overwhelming.

Zayn hums with the song, and Liam knows his eyes are closed because he keeps drawing circles with his fingers on Liam’s arm. Liam looks to the side and he’s right – Zayn’s long eyelashes are fluttering against his cheek, and he suppress the urge of touching them.

“Zayn?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t you feel lonely sometimes?” Zayn furrows his brow and open his eyes, looking down to the other boy. His eyes are blank like Liam has never seen before – or maybe there are so many emotions running through them that he can’t quite know what exactly is going on in Zayn’s head.

“Not really.” The good thing about Zayn is that he’s stopped avoiding questions that make him uncomfortable, ignoring how Liam still can’t bring himself to be a hundred per cent sincere all the time. “I have you. And my sisters. And it’s good to be alone sometimes.”

And Liam understands. Or at least he’s trying to. So he smiles. And Zayn leans in and kisses him. He tastes like cigarettes, coffee and the chocolate they had shared minutes before. His kiss is just like him; hot and exciting, keen to make Liam lose his composure. Zayn licks his way in and Liam doesn’t know what to do and where to put his hands. He’s never been kissed before; never let anyone get deep enough to reach such an important part of him.

Zayn notices it – Liam knows he does, Zayn notices everything when it comes to him – and he helps. He guides Liam’s hands towards his waist and holds them there. They only part when they hear a small knock on the door and Zayn’s mum calling them for dinner. Zayn is smiling when they get out of bed, his hands never letting go of Liam’s.

He knows he can get used to this in his routine.

-

Liam wakes up every day at thirty past five.

He stretches, he walks around his bedroom cracking his neck (twice to the left, twice to the right alternating). He does twenty push-ups and twenty sit-ups before putting his shorts and his t shirt on. His shoes are outside his door as well as clean socks. His iPod is already set on his favourite playlist, the only one that keeps up with his mood for his morning run. He goes to the park and he runs five miles. Because five miles is enough for him to reach his favourite bench by the time the sun is rising.

Zayn is already there with a thermos filled with coffee – because Zayn’s coffee is better than his mum’s and when Liam mentioned it to him, he tells him he will have it every day. He sits next to Liam and hands him the bottle, a cheeky smile on his lips.

“Hey.” Liam greets him and Zayn leans in, their lips brushing for just a second.

“Hey.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> And this is it! It's really slow innit? So thank you for reading and reaching this point. I'm going to continue it. Eventually. When I have more time. I just feel like I need to approach Liam's PTSD and show how bad it actually is. 
> 
> But anyways, kuddos and comments are very much appreciated. Come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://jadethirlwalled.tumblr.com/) :)


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